Unforgettable Moments
by Sanfina
Summary: Random drabble collections, with every character and genre imaginable. Ideas are welcomed. Includes the Percy Jackson series and Heroes of Olympus series (which belongs to the genius Rick Riordan). Lengths and ratings will vary.
1. Bobbi

Hi there. These will be random drabbles featuring _any_ of the characters from the Percy Jackson series or the Heroes of Olympus series.

Updates will be random and lengths will vary. The drabbles will be romantic, humorous, fluffy, thoughtful, angst, and other genres. I gladly welcome any ideas for chapters. Thank you. I hope you all enjoy.

**-OoO-**

Chapter One: Bobbi

POV: Limited Third Person (Percy's)

Word Count: 306

**-OoO-**

"Bobbi? Sweets, where are you?"

"Over here, Daddy!"

Percy let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. It always worried him when his children left his sight, especially out in public. Monsters could appear anywhere, anytime: it was part of the danger of being a demigod. It was also his responsibility to watch over his family, as a father.

He jogged to where his daughter's voice was. And there she was, sitting on a bench, her legs brought up to her chest and her eyes – so much like her mother's – studying the night sky. He dropped down beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pressing her small body against his.

They had snuck out of the house, leaving the boys to deal with Annabeth's weekly attempt at dinner. Percy loved his wife to the Underworld and back, and she was incredibly intelligent. She had gotten them both out of more sticky situations than he could count. But she could not cook. Many horrid memories of failed efforts suddenly hit him and he had to try his best not to gag.

"Daddy?" Bobbi asked.

He jolted out of his reveries. "Yes, sweets?"

"Why did you and Mommy name me Bobbi?" she frowned. "I mean, isn't that a guy's name? Everyone at school says it's a guy's name."

Percy paused. He recalled silver, crazy-Einstein hair. Pure silver eyes. A torn, blue janitor's uniform. A contagious smile. A flowing broom so dangerous it might as well have been a sword. A healing touch. Large hands that were gentle and warm. An unfair sacrifice. A Titan.

But most of, he recalled a friend.

_Tell the sun and stars hello for me_.

"Let me tell you," he told his daughter. He pointed at the stars. "He was born Iapetus, a Titan, but he died a hero."

**-OoO-**


	2. Leo and Calypso's Auto Repair

Chapter Two: Leo and Calypso's Auto Repair

POV: Limited Third Person (Leo's)

Word Count:

**-OoO-**

Leo sometimes regretted actually opening a shop with Calypso. The girl was stubborn, bullheaded, and impatient. She moved his tools around, insisting she was organizing and cleaning, without letting him know, so he nearly sliced off his fingers when he thought he was reaching for one of his hammers.

He sucked on his bleeding fingers. _Stupid, stupid, stupid girl_, he thought as he searched for the first-aid box. He couldn't find it anywhere and instead found himself just sitting at his stool, his fingers still in his mouth, as he fumed to himself. Why in Olympus did he agree to work with such a frustrating girl?

It has been over a decade since he had first met Calypso on Ogygia and smashed Dirt Face's face in. The gods deemed each of the seven demigods in the prophecy one gift and Leo had jumped on the chance: free Calypso from her prison island _right-that-freaking-instant_ or he would go fireball on their butts.

"Leo?" Calypso's voice asked him from behind.

He spun on his stool, his mouth open to retort angrily, but froze. Holy Hephaestus, did she look cute toda–

No. She looked beautiful.

Her golden-brown hair was in a scruffy bun, stray locks framing her milky-pale face and almond-shaped eyes. She was wearing a red tank-top smudged with grease, dirty jeans, and a bandana wrapped around her waist. A streak of dirt was smeared across her forehead, highlighting her pale skin. Her dark eyes flashed with amusement at his face. He quickly closed his mouth when he realized he was staring like a gaping fish.

"What're you doing?" she questioned.

He wavered. Why was he mad? He couldn't remember. All he could think about was how good she looked, especially in his favorite color.

She made a _tsk_ing sound. "Did you injure yourself again? And you call yourself a son of Hephaestus, butterfingers." She fished through a cabinet to her left and pulled out the dumb first aid box he had be hunting for earlier. She walked up to him and starting bandaging his bleeding fingers. She smelt – like always – of cinnamon.

He wanted to say something sly or smooth, but all he could do was grin like the idiot he was. She snorted, but a smile was tugging at the corner of her pouty lips.

**-OoO-**


	3. Fifty Pushups

Chapter Three: Fifty pushups

POV: First Person (Clarisse's)

Word Count: 473

**-OoO-**

I punched the girl straight in the nose. "What was that?" I growled, stepping towards her with my fist still raised. She scrambled back so fast, she ended tripping over herself and landing hard on her butt. "Repeat what you said, _weakling_."

She shook her head, useless tears filling her eyes. "N-n-nothing."

"That's what I thought." I grabbed her shirt collar and raised her so we we're eye level. I didn't know her name, but hearing my name out of her filthy mouth boiled my blood. In school or not, no one disrespected me. "Keep your mouth shut." I felt disgust when the girl nodded frantically, obviously terrified. "Coward," I hissed. "You deserve more than a broken a nose." I was debating whether to aim for her jaw or eye when a voice interrupted me.

"What do you think you're doing, cupcake? Let go of Williams."

"Hedge." I snarled. "This is none of your business."

Coach Annoying had popped out of nowhere and was now glaring at me. "Let. Her. Go." He had his baseball bat hitting against his hand in what he must have thought was a threatening manner, but it only made me laugh out loud. With his height, he was about as threatening as a fly.

My laughs made me accidentally loosen my hold on the loudmouth loser, who practically kicked dust in her rush to run away. "Pathetic," I snorted. If you had the guts to gossip behind someone's back, you better have the guts to stand up and fight when confronted.

"La Rue."

I barely blinked at him. "What?"

"I understand your need for violence very well."

I scratched my ear, half-listening. "Do you?" I grunted.

"Oh, yeah. Violence is very healthy for growing saty–" he coughed. "I mean, humans. Growing humans." He stopped talking, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

I frowned, uninterested. "I'm leaving now." I spun around, but felt a strong hand stop me.

Of course it was none other than Sour-faced Shorty. "Oh no you're not. Give me fifty pushups, now."

I scowled. "You can't be serious, Hedge."

"I'm always serious, cupcake. Get started."

I considered running. I mean, how fast could the coach run with those short legs? I could easily be on the other side of the school before he even realized I left. I excelled in anything physical, especially running.

"Don't even think about it, La Rue," Hedge warned. He smacked his bat against his hand again and for a split second it looked like a tree-branch club covered in twigs and leaves. I felt my eyes widen with shock. What the heck was that? Was I losing it?

But I scrunched my nose and got down into a perfect pushup position. "Clarisse La Rue doesn't run away," I replied crustily, already on my ninth pushup.

_Clarisse La Rue charges ahead_.

**-OoO-**


End file.
